Thin Lines
by mei-san
Summary: But their relationship stayed the same, stuck in the fifth year private tolerance and public hatred.


They passed each other in this specific spot, in this specific hall, at this specific time every day. No matter how they might have acted towards each other in front of her friends and his acquaintances as he liked to term them, and how much hatred they demonstrated reciprocally, neither of them changed their route. Perhaps it was Destiny.  
  
No matter that this was the long way to the Potions room and to the greenhouse, or that she hated the dark dirty halls of this particular place and that he almost always had allergies subsequently, from the dust.  
  
Some days, they liked to nod at each other in greeting. If you could call it a nod really; a barely perceptible inclination of the head, sometimes a smirk added by him, occasionally a wry twist of the lips from her.  
  
They never said anything to each other, really. A muttered, "Malfoy," a mumbled "Granger," this was as far as conversations went in that hall. No matter if they had just been cursing each other out in front of the Arithmancy classroom from where they both came, or if her friends or his friends had been mocking the other, or hexing, which was really more a likely occurrence.  
  
They just quietly passed each other, nodding, acknowledging, tolerating the other's presence, existence, whatever. Neither premeditated its occurrence. It just happened.  
  
Perhaps a fleeting, "Malfoy has a less stupid expression on his face than usual," or a glancing, "Granger has done wonders with that mass that purports to be hair." But no thought went into the gesture, it was a mindless activity.  
  
A small ritual really, but the whole day subsequent to it would feel off kilter if one or the other was in the hospital wing or sleeping in.  
  
He could take a minute out of the day to appreciate his enemy's intelligence, her wit and her profile. She could take a minute out of the day to appreciate her enemy's cunning, his biting sarcasm and his pectorals.  
  
Perhaps it was a ritual of grounding. To remind the both of them that the war they fought wasn't a real war. To remind them that the war that they waged against each other was waged by two people who had a genuine respect for each other. Perhaps it was a ritual of rebellion, her kissing her ass at her button- downed friends, him thumbing his nose at his oppressive father and his close minded housemates.  
  
They never knew. It was inexplicable. It was Destiny.  
  
It went on a year or two. She could never remember when the exchange of words had begun, or if they had been communicating all along.  
  
As they grew, they graduated to a, "good morning, Granger," or a, "how're you doing, Malfoy," a pleasantry bandied about, Malfoy not knowing or caring if her morning had been good and Granger not really caring how he was doing.  
  
As their years went on, he found that he cared that her mornings were good, and she found that she really would like to know how he was doing. Neither of them was comfortable with the caring, and their conversations never went further than that.  
  
In the aftermath of the great War, their friends had become friends, no longer restrained by social dictates of their parents and society.  
  
Blaise and Harry had been known to be seen chatting on the front steps of the Great Hall.  
  
Ron and Pansy had been seen walking about Hogwarts.  
  
Neville and Crabbe and Goyle had surprisingly found kindred spirits in each other, and delighted in chatting about crochet and other handicraft tips.  
  
Shy, little Ginny had started a very publicized relationship with Millicent, not only crossing the schism of the Gryffindor/ Slytherin divide, but challenging close minded Sapphic ideals that families and society had held for centuries.  
  
It seemed as though everyone was growing and changing around them. But their relationship stayed the same, stuck in the rut of fifth year private tolerance and public hatred.  
  
After a particularly acrimonious argument in the Great Hall, involving who should walk through the door first, their friends took them aside, reminding them that Slytherin and Gryffindor were now great friends. They retorted with animosity, saying that with their history, they could never, ever, possibly in a million-billion-trillion years, be friends.  
  
Their friends responded that the correct way to phrase that would be in a trillion-billion-million years, and that of course they would be friends. That it was their Destiny.  
  
But they were not, and indifference colored all of their encounters. She cared not if his new robes made his coloring especially nice. He didn't give a dung whether her new haircut was especially flattering.  
  
All of a sudden, their last ever encounter approached. They were to graduate that night, and the day after, be released into the world, to see what they could make of themselves.  
  
Her friends begged her to ask him to the graduation ball. He liked her a lot, they claimed. It was obvious, they didn't know how a witch as smart as she was could have avoided seeing it for so long.  
  
His friends egged him to invite her to the graduation ball. She really liked him, they rationalized. It was so apparent, they didn't know how a wizard as smart as he was could have not seen the obvious for so long.  
  
They both laughed it off, but their minds whirred with the possibilities. Could he possibly like me? Could she feel something for me? Should I ask him to the dance? Will she accept me if I ask her?  
  
They both resolved that it was silly, and that the other could never possibly feel the same way. But secretly, each harbored a hope, and didn't invite anyone else.  
  
And so came their last encounter.  
  
"Good morning, Granger," fell from his lips, revealing that he cared whether her morning was a good one.  
  
"How are you doing, Malfoy?" fell from hers, demonstrating that she cared about his wellbeing.  
  
"Listen, I know this is stupid-" both began.  
  
"You first," he motioned with his hand, gracefully towards her.  
  
"Look, I know that this is totally unexpected. I mean, it has to be. So I know that we've never been friends in the past. But I really would like it if you would." her voice trailed off, as she realized that perhaps this wasn't the best idea.  
  
"You would really like it if I did what, Hermione?" he used her name unconsciously, leaning towards her. Fixated.  
  
"I'd really really really like it, well I mean if you don't already have a date-"  
  
Draco interrupted with a quick, "I'd really like it too."  
  
"Great," she smiled at him.  
  
He grinned back, a little self consciously. "I have to get to class, but I'll see you tonight."  
  
She waved and walked off. But secretly, she was skipping down the hall.  
  
He sauntered down the hallway, but he was secretly polkaing and boogieing and doing all of these muggle dances that he had seen on the tell he fish on, but had never attempted.  
  
They told no one of their eminent plans. But she spent longer than normal on her hair, spelling it up into intricate designs. He could spend no longer on his hair than he normally did, but he picked his robes with care, matching the silver dragon buttons with his cufflinks.  
  
They had a terrible time. Everyone was hassling them about their relationship. He got many pats on the back from guys, congratulating him on finally snagging the 'Gryffindor untainted'.  
  
She got many hugs from the girls, congratulating her on snagging the 'Slytherin elusive.'  
  
She did not recognize him, he looked so dignified and so unlike the boy that she passed every day in the hall. He did not know her anymore, for the hair acted like a mask, covering the quirky imperfections with visual perfection.  
  
He hated it. She hated it. They both hated it. And when it was time to dance, they both excused themselves to the bathroom.  
  
But he really wasn't going to the bathroom. He went to 'their' hallway. Perhaps they just weren't meant to be. She was too different from the girl that he knew.  
  
She didn't go to the bathroom either. She went to 'their' hallway. Perhaps it was time for her to start believing in Divinitation. They weren't meant in the stars or something like that. He was too different from the boy she saw every day.  
  
They strolled through the hall, oblivious to the other's presence coming the other way.  
  
She removed her shoes and the pins from her hair, fiddling with them idly.  
  
He untied his bowtie, and left it hanging around his undone collar, unbuttoning the tuxedo studs and unlacing his shoes.  
  
They collided in the middle of the hallway.  
  
He nodded at her, a barely perceptible nod.  
  
She raised her eyebrows at him, just a smidgen.  
  
And they both walked on.  
  
Some things are intended, and others are forbidden by them. But Destiny would not let them walk away from it so quickly.  
  
He turned sharply towards her, as did she. She pulled his head down to hers and the stars exploded behind her eyes.  
  
He thought it was much the same as having his own private show of fireworks. The symphonies played delicate melodies, whilst tympanis crashed in the back, speckled with a cymbal reverberating somewhere around the pit of his stomach.  
  
She thought that she might faint. But she didn't, because she just couldn't bear to miss one second of the kiss.  
  
It was all of the hatred, all of the love, all of the 'good mornings' all of the 'how're you doings', it was everything he had ever felt for her and everything she had ever felt for him, without any of the indifference that either had pretended.  
  
It was real, it was raw, it ached, it throbbed. She gnawed at him, and he tried to devour her in turn.  
  
It was the sun, it was the planets, it was the earth, it was the sky. It was the heavens in all of their majesty, it was hellfire in all its rage. It was the stars, it was the grass.  
  
And most of all, it was them together.  
  
Destiny smiled upon the young lovers. She loved nothing better than a happy ending. 


End file.
